


Choke

by Nilysil



Series: Xev - Void corroded [3]
Category: Warframe
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Mawframe, Non-canon biology, Possession, Void Corruption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 01:44:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13400823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nilysil/pseuds/Nilysil
Summary: They're coming for you, the sentry tower whispers in the back of his mind.





	Choke

**GET UP**.

The neural sentry surges through his fragmented thoughts, mangling any lingering sense as gifted energy pulses through stained skin and bruised muscles. A breath shakes as life pours refound in nerves and wires, dulling the blistering agony that keeps him teetering at unconsciousness. **INTRUDERS** – a plea pulling him upwards on trembling legs and tattered feet. Inky black drips as heated gas breathes through a copper-made mouth and shining cyan flesh hanging open at his right side. They’re torn; black muscle retracting with every heave as the prime finds his feet beneath him, scattering congealed blood in every step.

 **They are coming for you**.

The sentry again, pumping energy into his weakened body, unable to find a moments rest or given enough time to recover. He’s lost count of how long he’s been here; an eternity is all he can figure as the presence pushes him to step on a pained foot. His ankle was shredded, barely healed, as a growl rumbles from his barely conscious chest – more towards the sentry than the corpses littering the hallways he’s forced through.

Golden claws click against the once pristine tile, a mirror of something he must’ve once been.

It’s a thought that doesn’t remain for long in the excalibur prime, yanked down another long walk as pieces of the intruders are dripped through the omnipresent sentry as whispers from the stark arboriforms.

 **They have a creature. Whispers with taut lines at the ends of poles**.

He can barely fragment a picture together of what the intruders look like, the neural sentry not content with independent thought as it draws him closer to where the intruders wander. **A hunched creature, lines hanging from its underside**. The prime can barely form a string of thoughts as the sentry screams inside his head, yearning for the directed slaughter of those that dared to walk in its lustrous Orokin glory. And yet, it has no qualms with the spill of red and black, inciting blind violence from its possession – the shell of a live once lived and invaded for its own means.

Another sneer splits the prime’s twisted maw as he steps wrong, pain surging weak in his numbed system as he presses on into the open arboriform lined halls of the Orokin tower. Bloodied hands claw against the walkway railing, body trembling as he looks for whomever the neural sentry is screaming about. It’s hard for him to focus, gaze dazed as pushes pressed into his damaged heel. He hisses, vents steaming against his taut arm.

 **There** – the sentry screams, forcing his exhausted head to turn.

He can barely see the blue suits of crewmen, grey helmets still as their bodies turn.

They must’ve seen him backlit by the light of brilliant arboriforms, brilliant energy surges through his hands as he draws a blade from burning palms, hissing as he stares down at them.

 **Jump** – the neural sentry commands.

Despite his blistering limp, the surging pain through the numerous unhealed injuries, the fracture in his ankle, he leaps. The intruders curse as he sails towards them, cleaving one with the brilliant energy blade as others start shooting.

The neural sentry pumps him full of energy as his shields take the brunt of the intruder retaliation, leaving him able to move from one target to the next, searing the grey helmets from matching containment suits. Eyes hang wide in lax faces, screams scrambled as all the prime can see is blurs unfocused. Once crimson over takes calm blues, there is still targets, a staple in his binding existence as blood is shed. This is the only time he is free of the pleading whines, garbled in the fray of the slaughter as the last falls to their knees – their helmet yanked off.

A plea for their life?

The sentry won’t allow it.

They are here for you.

The entry whimpers as he severs head from neck.

And for a moment.

He goes still.

Confused.

He barely makes out the line that flashes over his vision, a sudden yank that drives him and forces his exalted blade back into clutching hands. There’s shouting around him, another language as he claws at the wire pulling him onto his back.

Cruel screeches scream as dirty hands press against the soft skin of his neck, barely catching hold of the thin line – but whatever is pulling him is strong, unyielding as bloodied claws scratch at the floor for something to hold – anything to stop the pulling at his throat. He feels the wire tighten, unable to pluck his fingers around it as something chirps and gargles behind him. The prime tries to reach back and only finds wire, pulling at it to loosen the hold around his throat.

He finds his right is being tugged taut, tired muscles pulling as another rumbling bubbles up his compressing throat. The wire presses the plates at the front of his neck inwards, putting pressure inside as he struggles against the outside. Tightness grips around his left as well as his right, yanking outwards and following as he struggles against the capture line. He’s drawn further on his spine plates as he struggles, fighting the thin cord restraints as the intruders struggle to keep him restrained. Around his throat it bites further as he struggles, drawn against bullet resilient skin as the material begins to wedge itself between the gilded plates of his throat. It hurts, spreading the plates as the line bites into his skin.

He can bear the muted scream of the neural sentry, trying to pump as much energy into him as possible but he can’t hold anymore, gargling as it starts to make him ill. Blood black oozes as he releases a guttural scream, crooked and shuttering as the lines bite against his skin.

**Escape. Escape. Escape. Escape. Escape. Escape.**

Over and over the word hammers into his senses, even as he struggles and yanks. The intruders are near muted, their garbles in a foreign language unheard as the prime can only feel the biting pain and the neural sentry screaming through his thoughts – his nerves – his body drawn writhing backwards. The only thought that makes it through the scrambling sensory overload is his own thought, exhausted by the constant thrall-state that makes his only existence.

_I’m trying! ___

____

____

It bites into him like a knife, as he tastes inky copper and garbles as the wire squeezes his air passage tight, biting into his skin and choking on ichor black. He can feel himself be pulled not back, but up, throat made exposed as the prime claws against the digging in his throat. The sentry is screaming, repeating the same phrase, surging his overloaded body with excess energy in hopes it would solve him being strung up by his neck.

Behind him the moa coos to the intruders, beckoning as the prime fights the restraints. His claws splay against the ground, kicking and scratching at anything in range as he pulls his arms defensively close, hoping to strike something, mangle something to get at least one wrist free as he’s pulled further against the tall mechanation. As his legs begin to dangle, the line biting through the skin of his throat and esophagus, he kicks harder; hearing the machine whirr and whine as he feels a line at his wrist go lax.

They’re scrambling to restrain him.

But he, is much faster.

Gilded claws scratch at the moa’s undercarriage, hearing it scream as he tries to keep itself still for the tender intruders scrambling to restrain his arms. The other also goes lax, from the panic, a spark of his mind assumes as his claws grind against metal, pulling at the foundation of the line behind his choking throat as all he inhales is his own blood.

The void tower’s neural sentry howls in his mind.

There’s no time to think.

No time to listen.

As the wire around his throat tightens, making him choke and gag, bloody hands grasping from neck to grinding machine. Around him is the muffled shouting, his own bubbling screeching echoes. Static fuzzes inside his head, energy nullified as he’s made frantic, clawing at his own skin and the wire cutting deep into his throat.

It’s wrapping firmly around the solid plates at the back of his neck, the encasement of his spine.

If he doesn’t get free now, he never will be again.

He’ll be dead.

Gilded claws scratch at the moa’s housing, finding where the machine is tender, tearing at it and firm metal as the machine recoils under his reckless, directionless assault. It screeches and sways with him in tow, legs kicking back trying to find the ground once beneath his feet. Then his claws sink into something soft, digging.

And it screams.

His body dangles as the giant machine thrashes, swaying unbalanced with stomping feet as it tries to shake the fight out of its captive. The excalibur keeps kicking, claws digging deep into the small hand he pulls downwards through the reckless motions. And eventually, as the moa shakes, one kick makes contact with one of its slim legs, and it crumbles to the ground with a metallic screech.

It writhes, and the large feet tries to kick the prime’s smaller body away – but he’s too close to the large moa, his claws twisting into the small head sticking from the undercarriage. And the screaming continues as he rends through the metal with gleaming claws, his maw in a growling sneer and gargling black over his chin and over his oozing throat. He doesn’t care about the intruders right now, even as metal spears surge through his chest, knocking him forward through his frantic search for the wire wrapped in his throat.

One pierces his heart.

But it only makes him shutter, pulling the limp wire free from his off-kilter throat.

He’s relieved as he can feel the wire slip clean from his flesh, severing the line with his ichor black staining teeth as heat wheezes through his punctured lungs, choking and gargling on his black blood in retching heaves that pour from his throat in waves. His hands are shaking, barely conscious as energy surges through him once again.

The sentry is still there, waiting for him.

 **Kill the intruders** – it screams.

It forces him to stand, black ichor coating his chest from the puncturing spears and vomited blood. His vision is still blurred, further still as he can barely see his hands as he holds them towards his chokes and heaves. He can feel his claws wrapping against his neck, biting down as he exposes his throat for the fingering hand at his oozing wound. A pitched gurgle bites through his heaving chest as the golden claws dig into his skin, holding his head in place.

It should keep his off-kilter throat stable until the intruders are eradicated. KILL. 

At his chest he can feel the spears scraping against his lungs, scratching in every breath as he whirls around to face the remaining intruders, the one that held him firm for the capture attempt, strong enough to keep his weakened strength contained. Ill looking fingers flex as it drips black from weathered wrists, lines still connected but loose as one of the would-be captives tries to pull.

Yanking at his throat.

With a snarl, a burping of bubbling blood, he turns to their direction, flesh surging brilliant as a blade manifests from an oozing wrist unpreoccupied. It’s jagged, unfocused, made of a flayed mind with nothing but burning hatred and unyielding pain. As energy blades soar blindly as he cuts the air between him and the intruders, it severs the pitching screams and the frantic fire that follows, casting a sudden vacuum of noise as they drop dead.

He can’t see; how does he know?

By the neural sentry creating a vacuum in his energy reserves, sucking any life it might’ve breathed into him before it sent him off to assisted suicide. It praises him, even as it replaces the numbed pain with blistering agony.

But that hatred keeps him conscious, staring at the ceiling as he continues to choke on his own blood, feeling his consciousness wane in the agony surge. He can feel the spears juggle with every pained breath, warm fluid drip over his legs as they crumble him to the floor at the peak of the now quiet room – quiet except for his shallow breathing, snarling into the void air.

He was never angry at the intruders.

They’re just a casualty.

In the back of his mind, as he tries to put together his jumbled thoughts in a sea of shearing pain he remembers something; something from so long ago.

He has a _name_.

And that name is Xev.

And finally, as his consciousness fades, leaning lax against the spears that pierced his backs, he curses the neural sentry, vowing only one thing. A goal. Somewhere he wants to be and not directed.

To be free.

**Author's Note:**

> -+- Kudos, comments and sharing are encouraged! -+-


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